Friend Zone
by writeturnlove
Summary: Bucky Barnes is your friend. He's been your friend as long as you can remember, which is why he rests comfortably in the "Friend Zone." You, however, are no longer comfortable with this arrangement, but you don't ever plan to tell him. But sometimes the best things in life aren't planned.


**Friend Zone (Bucky X Reader)**

 **By V.C. Turner**

 ** _A/N: You've known James "Bucky" Barnes since high school. He's handsome, charming, and funny. You've always had a crush on him, but you put him in the friend zone because a guy like that could break your heart. As you grew into adults, the friendship remained solid._**

 ** _You can tell each other everything._**

 ** _Well, almost everything…_**

You take a sip from the champagne glass sitting to the right of your mostly full dinner plate and hope the night doesn't to drag on for too much longer. You invested much of that evening trying to advance your career a little by attending the Chamber of Commerce dinner meeting. In doing so, you promised yourself you'd hand out all of the 75 business cards nestled in your tiny clutch purse, but so far at least 50 cards remained and if you were being honest with yourself, your feet had begun to hurt after handing out the first 15.

A soft vibration catches your attention and you realize it's your phone. You discreetly pull it from your purse and look at the display. It's your friend Bucky. You excuse yourself and head outside to answer it. The cool night air brushes against your legs, but you ignore the shivers it causes in order to respond to his call. He's always there when you need him. You promised yourself you'd always be there for him as well.

"Hey, what's up?" you ask, thankful that your friend has given you a break from the boring meet-and-greet function.

"Hi, y/n, you busy?" he asks.

You look back at the entrance to your office building and note that no one seems to be looking for you. You see your co-workers milling about inside, but you haven't been followed. You've completed your introductions for the evening. There's no real reason to stay. The promotion you want is pretty much in the bag.

"Not really. Why?" you ask.

"Look: Do you think you can sneak out of there? Mali broke down again. I'm stranded and I left all my tools in the back of your car," he explained.

"You really need to get rid of that thing," you tell him, knowing that the black and grey 1970 Chevy Malibu will never leave his possession.

"Shhh. Don't talk like that: she might hear you!" he teases, "We've had this discussion and she's not going anywhere."

You roll your eyes as if he's actually there to notice your frustration. He won't part with the car even though he's been stranded six times over the past year due to its never-ending problems.

"Fine. Text me the address and I'll grab my things and head your way," you say.

You hear a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. You heart melts, then you frown for allowing yourself to think of him like that, if only for a brief moment.

"Y/N, you are a lifesaver," Bucky asserts. He then blows a kiss into the phone and hangs up.

You shake your head and return to the party to politely excuse yourself.

You connect your phone to the car speakers and listen for the text message with Bucky's location. Once you hear the familiar street name, you shake your head.

You pull up behind his car, which is parked safely at the back of his house.

Bucky faces away from you. He's kneeling on the ground and removing the hubcap. You pop your trunk and exit your car, but he still hasn't turned around. You try not to be distracted by the tight blue jeans he always seems to wear, or the t-shirts that hug him in all the right places. (Then you realize that there are really no 'wrong' places on Bucky.)

After grabbing the toolbox, you walk up behind him, nudging him slightly with your knee. He takes out his earbuds and turns to face you as you place the toolbox on the ground next to him.

You're wearing a short red dress with high heels. Your hair is still in place and your makeup is flawless. You probably shouldn't have worn something so sexy to the work event, but you wanted to stand out and you figured that you had.

Bucky examines every inch of you as he stands up slowly. He starts at your feet, then his gaze traces up your legs, to your waist, then to your cleavage, and finally settles on your face. The heated stare he gives you sends your thoughts to forbidden places.

His hair falls in his eyes and he runs his fingers through it. You've always found that simple motion the sexiest thing you've ever seen.

You see him blush slightly and you stand up straighter because he knows you caught him staring.

He doesn't speak immediately, so you talk instead.

"I thought you were stranded," you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I am," he says, still looking you over, "I can't go anywhere."

You playfully swat at him, but he catches your hand and squeezes it. He then brings it up to his mouth and kisses it briefly before letting it go. You feel the moisture from his lips on your skin. You try to form words, but it has always been difficult in his presence.

You finally figure out what you want to say, remembering that focusing on the innocuous topics is best.

"I was worried about you," you point out.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue," Bucky says with a smile.

"Your driveway is not a rescue," you tell him with mock annoyance.

He laughs. Your heart stops. He pulls you into a hug. You've hugged him countless times, but this time feels different. He holds on tight and strokes your lower back. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. You fight the urge to breath in his cologne and enjoy the feel of his arms around you. You want to bury your face in his neck and never come up for air.

 _No_ , you tell yourself, _don't think of him that way_.

You slowly regain your composure as he steps away from you. The absence of his warmth makes you shudder. You wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shaking.

"So, what's wrong with the thing now?" you ask.

"Brakes and rotors," he answers.

You nod. He bites his bottom lip, which is the second sexiest thing you've ever seen.

"I don't know why you keep this heap of metal when you can buy a new one," you state, looking up at him with curiosity and still wondering why he hasn't gone back to working on his car.

"Sentimental reasons: this car has a history. Besides, if it weren't for this heap of metal, we never would have met," he says.

You nod silently as you run your hand over the trunk of the Malibu.

"True, and she'd be mine if someone hadn't outbid me and charmed his way behind the wheel," you point out.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended at the accusation.

"I earned it fair and square," he asserts, knowing it was mostly the truth.

"Fair and square? You promised to take the owner's daughter out on a date and upped your offer another $100," you note, furrowing your brow.

"Worst date ever, by the way," he points out, stooping down to open up the toolbox and remove a few items.

You stifle a laugh.

"There's also a lot of good things associated with this car," Bucky continues, "I got my license in this car. _You_ flunked your driving test in this car."

"You made me nervous," you insist, leaning against the Malibu, "And I got it the second time around."

He chuckled softly. It made you heart skip a beat again. His effect on you intensified with each second you spent in his presence.

"Remember when we snuck out of senior prom and went joyriding down Pleasant Valley Road," he pointed out.

"Remember how we got pulled over because someone was speeding?" you remind him, "Lucky for you, my sad face stopped the officer from giving us a ticket."

"Oh, that had nothing to do with your sad face," Bucky said, "It had more to do with that cop being distracted by your boobs in that dress."

You shrug your shoulders, doubting that was the reason, but glad he noticed something feminine about you – at least back then.

Bucky stands back up to face you. He wipes his hands on the towel again, looking in your eyes as if he's hesitating. He licks his lips and you momentarily stop breathing.

"Come on, get in. I want to show you something," he says after a few seconds.

You walk around to the passenger side, but he beats you there, opening up the door for you then closing it after you sit down.

The Malibu faces the back of his house and you realize that there is a white sheet hanging over the clothesline in the back yard.

Bucky walks over to the picnic table and turns on a LCD projector perched on top. He's starts one of your favorite movies and then sits down in the driver's seat just inches from you. He reaches into the backseat and pulls out a bag of popcorn, placing it between the two of you on the front seat.

"Help yourself," he says, sitting back casually as he watches the moving playing in his makeshift backyard drive-in theater.

"What is this?" you ask.

"Movie night," he says, "It is Thursday after all."

You smile, not realizing that you'd been so busy with work that you'd forgotten your Thursday ritual of Movie Night with Bucky.

"I'm sorry," you admit, "I didn't mean to bail on you for work."

"I know you've been busy," he says with a hint of sorrow in his voice, "I get it."

Guilt washes over you because you always promised yourself you wouldn't let work keep you from the things you truly enjoy. Yes, the job was nice and paid well, but becoming a workaholic just wasn't your style.

"Still, Buck – I'm sorry," you tell him, giving him a small smile then turning back to the movie.

Bucky reaches over and pats your left knee, but he leaves his hand there. The heat from his skin touching yours sends jolts of electricity through you. You feel an intoxicating warmth spread up your leg to the apex of your thighs.

His fingers begin to make slow circles on the inside of your knee and you debate just how much of this you can handle before bursting into flames. You stop breathing and pretend to watch the screen when you know that a part of you wants him to slide his hand further up your leg and …

You need to say something. You need to say anything to get him to stop because he doesn't realize how much his friendly contact is creating so many non-platonic thoughts in your head.

"Well, this is another first in this car, I guess," you point out, "Watching a drive-in movie."

Bucky nods. He takes a drink of his soda and places it back on the floor of the car. He doesn't look at you, which makes you a little nervous.

"Have you done anything else in this car?" you ask him, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Such as?" he questions as he faces you, the intensity of his blue eyes seeing through to your soul.

 _Crap_ , you think.

"I don't know," you lie.

He shrugs.

"Well, I did get into my first accident in this car. Remember when I backed into that light in the mall parking lot?" he asks.

You think back, trying to remember and realize he's talking about an incident that happened during Christmas time and when the weather was bad.

"Well, that wasn't too terrible," you insist, "Besides, there was black ice on the ground. It could have happened to anyone."

You tear your gaze away from his. He can see through you. You're certain of it now more than ever before.

"Nevertheless, it has more good memories than bad," he points out, wiping his hands on a napkin he retrieved from the dashboard.

After a few minutes of staring mindlessly at the screen, you hear him speak again and it breaks you from your thoughts.

"I've got one more thing I want to with in this car," he says, staring at the screen.

"What's that?" you ask, "Sell it?"

He chuckles briefly while shaking his head.

"No," he states with a smirk, "I think I need to christen the back seat."

You roll your eyes in disgust. Fire burns through your veins because the sexist comment breaks your heart a little. Sure, you understand that he's a guy and that he has dirty thoughts like the rest of them, but the idea that he felt saying that to you would be acceptable pisses you off because you know he's not talking about doing anything with _you_ in that 'virgin' back seat.

The thought of another woman kissing, touching him, in your car – his car, is too much for you to take. You don't hear anything else he says. You yank on the door handle and get out of the vehicle as fast as your heels will allow you.

As you start to walk away, you hear his door open, but refuse to look in his direction. You're already fuming and looking in his eyes would dissipate your anger much more quickly than it deserved to leave.

Bucky's movement is swift, but not threatening. He quickly rushes in front of you, then pins you to the side of the car with his chest. He places a hand on each side of you so you can't get away. You don't feel trapped. You feel aroused and it ticks you off a little because you want to stay mad at him.

He lifts your chin.

"Look at me!" he demands. There is no anger in his voice, but he's serious. You have to look at him.

"What?!" you snap at him.

"You are the most stubborn, frustrating woman I've ever known in my life," he starts. You try to pull away, but he presses a little harder into you. His cologne makes you dizzy. The heat of his breath against your face is turning you on and you hate him for making you want him – even when you're angry.

"Thanks!" you snap back at him.

"You're also the sexiest, funniest, sweetest, and smartest woman I've ever met," he says, "So, why the Hell don't know that I'm in love with you?"

Before your brain registers his words, he slips his hand around the nape of your neck and pulls you to him.

"Buck, I-," you start saying.

He interrupts your words by pressing his lips against yours, probably harder than he expected. His kiss feels eager, as if he's been waiting almost as long as you have for this moment. You kiss him back while pulling him as close to you as possible; knowing you dare not let him go. You'd risk passing out from lack of oxygen just to be connected to him for a few moments longer.

Bucky's lips are much softer than you expected. They soon begin to caress yours at a more relaxed pace as you both settle into a rhythm. You're so distracted by the kiss, you barely notice that he's wrapped his left arm around you and dragged you so close that you can feel the beat of his heart as it vibrates against your own chest.

He briefly pulls his lips from yours, nibbling a path from your chin down to your neck. You feel your nipples harden and each time he moves, it only stimulates them more. You can't speak. You can only moan as you close your eyes and try to figure out if this moment is real or just another one of the many erotic dreams you have been having about him.

You run your fingers through his hair. Your legs part slightly as you feel the crotch of his jeans press against your heat.

"Hey, y/n?" he asks with his lips attached to your neck.

"Yeah, Buck," you manage to groan, as his hands roam your body – driving you insane.

"Do you love me back, or what?" he says as he draws your earlobe between his teeth and flicks it with his tongue.

Your body responds on instinct, grinding against him.

"Bucky, you're not playing fair," you whisper. You tug at the belt loops of his jeans. He starts to pull up the bottom of your dress.

"I never play fair. Now answer the question," he says.

You lean back, looking at him.

"Yes, James Buchanan Barnes, I love you back," you tell him.

He bites his lip and looks between your eyes and your mouth.

Bucky steps back pulling you with him as he uses his right hand to open the passenger side door. You know what he wants, so you slide into the back seat and lie down. He follows you, shutting the door behind him as he climbs on top of you with a look that dampens your panties even before he bothers removing them.

"God I love your car," you giggle into his ear.

Bucky brushes the hair from your face.

"Our car," he says, and then kisses you again.


End file.
